


Rotten Work

by dombinic (niikolatesla)



Series: G-Swap [1]
Category: HLVRAI - Fandom, Half Life VR But The AI Is Self Aware
Genre: Drinking, Flirting, M/M, Mutual Pining, One Shot, Slow Burn, it's 1989 ! dr coomer and gman are just having some flirty fun at a bar
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-18
Updated: 2020-11-18
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:40:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27612910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/niikolatesla/pseuds/dombinic
Summary: They're just celebrating his divorce. It's fine. It's not like G-Man has kind of a crush on his coworker. He's 30 anyway, he shouldn't be getting crushes.Just some drinks with Harold. It's fine.
Relationships: Dr. Coomer/The G-Man (Half-Life)
Series: G-Swap [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2010394
Comments: 7
Kudos: 37





	Rotten Work

**Author's Note:**

> this is an AU where gordon and gman are swapped (gman's a normal guy at black mesa, gordon is an eldritch god and also a dad) and also its not a game!  
> uhh what else.,., dr coomer and gman both work at black mesa, gman works in anomalous materials (uh oh!) (well. not uh-oh for another 30 years), dr coomer is a bisexual king and had a long time partner but they broke up but he refers to her as his ex-wife, uhhh i dont know ! theyre just gay people. goomby endgame but not yet !
> 
> CW for emetophobia, gman drinks a lil too much, not graphic But It's There

G-Man- well, he likes to pretend he has a good handle on himself, but truthfully, he hasn’t had this much to drink since his wedding. Actually- he’s probably drunk more tonight than at his wedding. He wanted to keep that event relatively level-headed.

Right now, he’s quite a few drinks into the night, he's smiling into his hand as Harold tells him the funniest story about… something… that happened in… in the engineering department…?

Okay. Maybe he’s not entirely paying attention to the story.

Harold is just very, very handsome. And G-Man is still getting used to really, genuinely letting himself, you know, be attracted to men.

It took a bit to figure out, he won't lie to himself, but he got there eventually. And with his divorce getting finalized tomorrow, and his now ex-wife already out perusing the dating scene (good for her!), G-Man thinks he can let himself indulge. 

Indulge, as in, pine for his coworker and not let it get any further than that.

He’s feeling very indulgent tonight.

 _God_ , Harold is handsome. He’s wearing this floral button-up and acid-wash jeans, leather jacket flung over the back of the booth they’ve sequestered themselves in. He drove them here on his motorcycle, and G-Man felt a little silly holding onto him, considering he was a good foot and a half taller than him, but just the confidence he radiated on the bike... If G-Man didn’t know any better, he would be half convinced Harold would rev the motorcycle a little more than necessary just so he would hold onto him tighter.

But he’s probably, definitely imagining.

They’re just two coworkers, celebrating G-Man’s divorce at a hole-in-the-wall club.

Well- two friends. He feels comfortable enough calling Harold his friend. It’s nice. He likes being Harold’s friend. He wouldn’t want to ruin it.

Harold’s stopped talking. G-Man doesn’t know how long he hasn’t been talking, he’s been kind of lost raking his eyes across his face and thinking about how soft Harold’s hair would be to touch and-

“Well, Doctor,” Harold starts. He’s so funny. Calling him “doctor”. “You seem like you have something on your mind.”

Caught.

G-Man feels the flush rise in his cheeks. At least he can blame it on- what’s he drinking- the strawberry daiquiri he’s been running his finger around the rim of. He’s- he’s probably definitely had a few too many. It’s fine. That’s a tomorrow problem.

“You can call me my name, _Dr. Coomer_ ,” G-Man says with a slight slur. Oh, yep. Definitely had a few too many. Harold suddenly puts a hand over G-Man’s, and he’s unsure if he can keep blaming the very prominent blush on the drinks. Especially when Harold starts brushing his thumb back and forth across G-Man’s knuckles. Harold laughs. Good lord- that’s going to be on repeat in his brain for the rest of time. What a gorgeous laugh.

“You’re going to think it’s silly,” Harold starts. “I- I don’t actually, know your name.”

“Of course you do!” G-Man says, a little too loud. “G-Man!” He snickers and finds himself shifting his hand around, putting his palm up and against Harold’s, some kind of mockery of holding hands. It’s nice to dream. “The-hand-of-a-gov-ern-ment-man,” He tries to do his best David Byrne impression. It’s not very good. “This is not my beautiful house… This is not my beautiful wife! …’Cause I’m divorced,”

“You’re drunk, Doctor,” Harold laughs.

“I’m tipsy!” G-Man defends. “But… You should… Join me?” G-Man offers. Harold thinks. G-Man’s watched him take a few shots like a champ already. He definitely holds his liquor better than he does.

“Why not?” Harold agrees. G-Man buys the next round.

* * *

Okay, neither of them are sober, definitely not. But G-Man’s at a point where he’s, somehow, a little more sobered up than Harold. Some Depeche Mode song is blasting on the speakers and Harold’s got both of G-Man’s hands in his, pulling him up and onto the dance floor, surrounded by a bunch of 20-somethings. Harold, as he so lovingly puts it, “busts a move”.

“Harold-“ G-man starts. Harold swings his hips around and does a little groove that’s somehow very funny and extremely cute. It should be a crime.

“Dance with me, _Doctor Feelgood!_ ” And Harold’s pulling him by the lapels of his dumb evening jacket he decided to wear, and, if only to appease Harold, G-Man does a sway that could maybe be loosely described as dancing.

“Mötley Crew? Really?” G-Man teases. Harold gives him a shove, and G-Man stumbles, only to be caught by Harold and pulled right back into him.

The alcohol makes all of, _this_ , flow easier, like a lubricant in his brain. G-Man wouldn't describe himself as straight-laced, but everyone at work definitely would. Somehow, he's made friends with one of the most buoyant people there, and, perhaps, Harold's rubbing off on him, if only a little. Again- the alcohol helps. It makes it a much simpler decision, to let himself do a funny little dance while the song continues playing.

“I’ve always wanted to be a boxer!” Harold says over the music. This is a fun turn of conversation.

“Why didn’t you?” G-Man asks.

“My blasted ex-wife made me finish my PhD!” He laments.

“You have the- the arms, for it,” G-Man says, nearly ghosting his fingers across his biceps.

“Was that a pass at me?” Harold asks with a smile. What the _hell_ , _Harold_ , you can’t just _ask that-_

“I’m-“ G-Man starts. “I’m getting a divorce-“

“I’m well aware,” Harold says. He’s still got his hands holding onto his lapels, and G-Man feels himself flush at the idea that with those big, strong arms, Harold could very easily pull him in, bend him down to kiss him-

G-Man audibly swallows as the music ends. They’re left on the dance floor, Harold still holding a very red G-Man by his jacket, motionless as the world around them blurs and spins, lights slowly flashing across Harold’s face, and each new color brings out something new G-Man hadn’t noticed before. He could stare at him forever. And suddenly, Harold laughs, and G-Man laughs along too, because what the fuck are they doing, and Harold puts his head against G-Man’s chest to ground himself back to Earth. G-Man hopes Harold doesn’t notice how frantic and fast his heart’s pounding as he lifts his head back up and meets G-Man’s eyes.

“I’ll buy the next round?” Harold asks.

“I wouldn’t object to that.” G-Man replies.

* * *

They’ve both- oh, G-Man’s going to be feeling this in the morning- they’ve both had way too much to drink. The careful back and forth of one getting more sober than the other has been broken, and now, they’re both confidently shitfaced, holding onto each other tight as they sway down the sidewalk. The bar closed, and now they’re on the long walk to- to- G-Man doesn’t quite know where they’re going, actually. He just knows they’ve gotten far too messed up for a Thursday. Not that he really cares, because Harold is holding onto him, he’s holding onto Harold, and they’re singing at the top of their lungs, and only three people yelled at them from their apartment windows.

Little victories.

They finish their rendition of “Dancing Queen”, trying to one-up each other with their ending flourishes, and Harold sighs, leaning a little more into G-Man, and G-Man leans a little more into Harold.

“I didn’t- I didn’t take you, for, an ABBA man, Doctor,” Harold sighs.

“Just- just say, 'G-Man',” G-Man says. “Nobody- nobody calls me ‘Doctor’.”

“I don’t-“ Harold makes some kind of frustrated noise. “It’s so, _impersonal_ , and it’s- “G-Man”- Government-Man- I- I _hate_ the government,” He continues. “Not in the right-wing way. The day- the day Reagan dies, I’m driving out, to wherever they’re burying the bastard, and pissing on his grave. I’m- I want to start, a union, at Black Mesa- you should, you should join-“ Harold suddenly laughs. “You need to stop me, when I’m rambling, or else, I’ll talk your ear off.”

“I’d- I’d listen to you talk forever, Harold.”

That makes both of them shut up, halting their staggering steps by just what exactly came out of G-Man’s mouth. G-Man’s cursing himself out in his head, because, what the fuck, that’s- that was stepping over a line, absolutely, he’s definitely made Harold uncomfortable, and-

“What’s your name?” Harold asks, turning to fully face him, looking up at him with those deep brown eyes. G-Man would fall into them so willingly if he just asked. If he wanted him to. If he let himself.

“Giovanni,” He says in nearly a whisper. He’d tell Harold anything, right now.

“Giovanni,” Harold echoes. Oh. _Oh_ \- G-Man- G-Man has some kind of complicated relationship with God, and the idea of it all, but there’s something so close to godliness in the way Harold says his name like it’s sacred. He’d give anything to hear it again. “That’s a beautiful name, Giovanni.” Oh, _God_.

“Thank, thank you, Harold,” Is all G-Man feels like he can muster as they continue the walk home.

* * *

Well. The night had to end somewhere.

G-Man’s night is ending here, in Harold’s apartment, every bad drink coming out of him like bile. “Like bile”- it is bile, and Harold’s so sweetly rubbing his back and holding a wet washcloth to his forehead and wiping the sweat away in a motion more tender than he deserves. Harold won this round- sobered up faster than him, and is currently taking care of him.

It takes a while, but G-Man finally finishes, flushing the toilet and sighing heavily.

“Very impressive, Giovanni!” Harold says. G-Man is unsure if it’s a tease or not. He also doesn’t really care, because Harold said his name again, and G-Man is never going to tire of it. He picks his head up as Harold folds the cloth over and wipes his chin with it, holding his jaw in his warm, soft hand that G-Man can’t help but lean into.

“You don’t, need to, take care of me,” G-Man gently protests. “It’s- I’m a mess-“

“Just like Orestes,” Harold says with a smile.

“You know Euripides?” G-Man asks. Harold hums an affirmative and nods. “You’re so smart,” G-Man says.

“You’re looking at me like you’re moonstruck,” Harold laughs.

“Maybe I am,” G-Man says. Harold sighs, moving his hand up to better cup his face. It’s heaven. G-Man’s died and somehow was good enough to end up here, on the bathroom floor in Harold’s apartment, being held in the palm of his hand. Harold could crush him, could dismantle G-Man’s whole world, but he won’t. He doesn’t. He trusts him completely.

“We should-“ Harold starts. “Let’s- we’ll see how you feel in the morning.” Harold says, not quite meeting his eyes. “Are you comfortable sleeping here tonight? If not, I’m more than happy to call a cab for you-“

“Stay with me,” G-Man almost pleads. Harold brushes a thumb across his cheekbone and G-Man sighs. It’s perfect. It’s where he belongs. Here.

“Of course I’ll stay with you,” Harold says. It’s not even a question. “Let’s get you to bed.”

Harold stands up, looping G-Man’s arm over his shoulder, and does just that. He takes G-Man to his bed, lifting the covers up and settling him in, untying his shoes and taking them off before putting his legs under the comforter. Harold brings the covers up, and he’s enveloped, and has never felt safer or warmer than here, in Harold’s bed.

“Don’t fall asleep yet, I need to get you some water,” Harold says. G-Man’s eyes already feel so heavy, but he nods as Harold pads into the kitchen.

G-Man didn’t listen, and is already half asleep by the time he comes back. He’s too tired to lift his head up or open his eyes, as much as he wants to. Instead, he hears Harold sigh, putting the glass of water by the table.

He isn’t sure if he’s dreaming or not when he feels a hand brush his hair behind his ear.

He just knows when he wakes up the next morning, Harold’s asleep on the couch, and G-Man has a pounding headache.

At least he has a glass of water to down before getting his stuff together, sneaking out of the apartment as quietly as he can.

After all, he has divorce papers to sign today.

**Author's Note:**

> read the other works in gswap if u havent! n as always comments n kudos are appreciated but so are hits so thank u for clicking and reading !!!


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